Intra Muros Part 13

"I fancy so. See, someone is even now at the door as though expecting you."

I crossed over the snowy walk and flowery turf--for the house stood in an angle formed by two paths crossing, almost opposite Mrs.

Wickham's--and before I could ascend the steps I found myself in the embrace of two loving arms.

"Bertha Sprague! I was sure it was you when I saw you go to Mrs.

Wickham's a day or two ago. Did not she tell you I was here?"

"She had no opportunity until to-day," I said. "But dear Aunt Ann, I should have found you soon; I am sure you know that."

"Yes, I am sure you would."

Then I recounted to her something of my visit to Mrs. Wickham's that eventful day. She listened with her dear face full of sympathy, then said:

"There, dear, you need not tell me. Do I not know? When the Master comes to gladden my eyes, I have no thought or care for anything beyond, for days and days! Oh, the joy, the peace of knowing I am safe in this blessed haven! How far beyond all our earthly dreams is this divine life!"

She sat for a moment lost in thought, then said wistfully: "Now, tell me of my children--are they coming?"

I gladdened her heart with all the cheering news I could bring of her loved ones; and so we talked the hours away, recalling many sweet memories of the earth-life, of friends and home and family ties, and looking forward to the future coming to us of those whom even the joys of heaven could not banish from our hearts.

Then also another evening, as the soft twilight fell, and many of our dear home circle were gathered with us in the great "flower-room," we heard a step upon the veranda, and as my brother went to the open door a gentle voice said:

"Is Mrs. Sprague really here?"

"She is really here. Come and see for yourself." And sweet Mary Green entered the room.

"I am so glad to welcome you home!" she said, coming to me with extended hands, and looking into mine with her tender, earnest eyes.

"My precious girl!" I cried, taking her to my heart in a warm embrace.

"I have been asking about you, and longing to see you."

"I could scarcely wait to reach here when I heard that you had come.

Now, tell me everything--everything!" she said as I drew her to a seat close beside me.

But questions asked and the answers given are too sacred for rehearsal here. Every individual member of her dear home-circle was discussed, and many were the incidents she recounted to me that had occurred in her presence when her mother and I were together and talking of the dear child we considered far removed from our presence.

"I was often so close that I could have touched you with my hand, had the needed power been given," she said.

After a long, close converse had been held between us, I took her to the library, whither the rest had gone to examine a new book just that day received. I introduced her to them all as the daughter of dear friends still on earth, confident of the welcome she would receive. My youngest sister and she at once became interested in each other, finding congeniality in many of their daily pursuits, and I was glad to believe they would henceforth see much of each other in many different ways.

There was no measurement of time as we measure it here, although many still spoke in the old-time language of "months" and "days" and "years." I have no way of describing it as it seemed to me then.

There were periods, and allotted times; there were hours for happy duties, hours for joyful pleasures, and hours for holy praise. I only know it was all harmony, all joy, all peace, at all times and in all conditions.

CHAPTER XVI.

There is an endearing tenderness in the love of a mother to a son, that transcends all other affections of the heart. It is neither to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingrat.i.tude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his convenience; she will surrender every pleasure to his enjoyment; she will glory in his fame, and exult in his prosperity; and if adversity overtake him, he will be the dearer to her by misfortune; and if disgrace settle upon his name, she will still love and cherish him; and if all the world beside cast him off, she will be all the world to him.--[Washington Irving.

The current of my life flowed on in the heavenly ways, until the months began to lengthen into years and my daily studies ascended higher in the scale of celestial mysteries. I never wearied of study, though much was taught and gained through the medium of observation in the journeys that I was permitted to take with my brother into different parts of the heavenly kingdom. I never lacked time for social pleasures and enjoyments, for there is no clashing of duties with inclination, no unfulfilled desires, no vain strivings for the unattainable in that life, as in the life of earth. Many precious hours of intercourse were spent in my dear father's home, and sometimes on rare occasions I was permitted to accompany him to his field of labor and a.s.sist him in instructing those lately come into the new life with little or no preparation for its duties and responsibilities. On one occasion he said to me:

"I have the most difficult problem to deal with I have ever yet met in this work. It is how to enlighten and help a man who suddenly plunged from an apparently honorable life into the very depths of crime. I have never been able to get him to accompany me to the river, where these earthly cobwebs would be swept from his poor brain; his excuse being always that G.o.d's mercy is so great in allowing him inside heaven's gates at all, that he is content to remain always in its lowest scale of enjoyment and life. No argument or teaching thus far can make him alter his decision. He was led astray by infatuation for a strange woman, and killed his aged mother in order to secure her jewels for this wretched creature. He was executed for the crime, of which in the end he sincerely repented, but he left life with all the horror of the deed clinging to his soul."

"Has he seen his mother since coming here? Does she know of his arrival?"

"No; she is entirely alone in this world, and it was not thought wise to tell her of his coming till his soul was in a better condition to receive her. He was an only child, and does not lack the elements of refinement, but he was completely under the control of this vile though fascinating woman. It is said she drugged his wine and incited him to do the dreadful deed while under its influence, because of her hatred for his mother, whose influence was against her. When he came from under the influence of the wine, he was horrified at what he had done, and his infatuation for the woman turned to loathing--but, alas, too late! He would not see her during his entire incarceration."

"How long was he in prison?"

"Almost a year."

"Has he seen the Christ?"

"No; he begs not to see him. He is very repentant, and grateful to be saved from the wrath he feels was his just punishment, but though he is conscious that his sin is forgiven, he does not yet feel that he can ever stand in the presence of the Holy One. And here, as upon earth, each must be willing to receive him. His presence is never given undesired. I have not yet appealed for higher help; my ambition is to lead these weak souls upward through the strength entrusted to me. Can you suggest anything that would probably reach him?"

"His mother. May I bring her?"

He thought a moment reflectively, then said: "A woman's intuition.

Yes, bring her."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "O sweet and blessed country,]

"O sweet and blessed country, The home of G.o.d's elect!

O sweet and blessed country That eager hearts expect!

There stand those halls of Zion All jubilant with song, And bright with many an angel, And all the martyr throng."]

I soon was on my way. I found the poor woman, laid the facts gently before her, and waited her decision. There was no hesitancy upon her part; in an instant she said, "My poor boy! Certainly I will go with you at once."

We found my father waiting for us, and went immediately to the great "Home" where these "students"--would we call them?--stayed. It was a beautiful great building in the midst of a park, with shaded walks and fountains and flowers everywhere. To one just freed from earth it seemed a paradise indeed; but to those of us who had tasted heaven's rarer joys, something was wanting. We missed the lovely individual homes, the little children playing on the lawns, the music of the angel choir; it was tame indeed beside the pleasures we had tasted.

We found the young man seated beneath one of the flower-laden trees, intently perusing a book that my father had left with him. There was a peaceful look on his pale face, but it was rather the look of patient resignation than of ardent joy. His mother approached him alone; my father and I remaining in the background. After a little time he glanced up and saw his mother standing near him. A startled look came into his face, and he rose to his feet. She extended her arms toward him, and cried out pathetically, "John, my dear boy, come home to me--I need you!" That was all.

With a low cry he knelt at her feet and clasped her knees, sobbing: "Mother! mother!"

She stooped and put her tender arms about him; she drew his head gently to her breast and showered kisses on his bowed head. Oh, the warm mother-love, the same in earth and heaven! Only the Christ-love can exceed it. Here was this outraged mother, sent into eternity by the hands of him who should have shielded and sustained her, bending above her repentant son with the mother-love with which her heart was overflowing shining upon him from her gentle eyes. I saw my father turn his head to conceal his emotion, and I knew that my own eyes were wet. My father had explained to the mother that the first thing to be accomplished was to get her son to the river, so we now heard her say caressingly:

"Come, John, my boy, take the first step upward, for your mother's sake, that in time I may have the joy of seeing you in our own home.

Come, John, with mother."

She gently drew him, and to our great joy we saw him rise and go with her, and their steps led them to the river. They walked hand in hand, and as far as we could see them she seemed to be soothing and comforting him.

"Thank G.o.d!" said my father fervently. "There will be no further trouble now. When they return he will see with clearer vision." And so it proved.

After this, by divine permission, I became much of the time a co-laborer with my father, and thus enjoyed his society and his instructions much oftener than otherwise I could have done.